Out of Sight
by Screaming Faeries
Summary: When Sybil Trelawney was born, Cassandra was finally able to raise the prophesied child after over three-hundred years of waiting. But, when she discovers that Sybil's Sight is not the blessing that Cassandra expected it to be, she is forced to retract her steps and face past demons in order to save her great-great-granddaughter's future.
1. The Awakening

**A.N:** Just a few things to point out before you read! The chapters will be a little skewed, but it's entirely deliberate. The following birth dates have been created by me as they weren't already listed by JKR. Cassandra has prolonged her life, hence why she is still alive (but that will be further explained).

Sybil: March 9th, 1960

Cassandra: March 9th, 1650

* * *

 _ **March 9**_ _ **th**_ _ **, 1960**_

"She's coming, Patricia. Just hold out for a little longer."

Cassandra was clinging to the hand of her great-granddaughter, Patricia Trelawney, who was flat on her back, writhing on her sweat-soaked sheets. Her legs were up in the air, being held apart by the Healer who had apparated in from St. Mungos to assist with the birth, and she was panting and shrieking for all she was worth.

"You're nearly there, Patricia," the Healer soothed. "I can see the head! A few more pushes, and she'll be out."

"No," moaned Patricia, beads of sweat standing out on her forehead. "No, I can't do it...there's...something wron...ngggh!" her body convulsed as she cried out the sentence, and she threw her head back. Cassandra stroked her wrinkled hand over her great-granddaughter's forehead gently.

It had been a _horrible_ labour. The contractions had started over forty-eight hours ago, and Patricia had been in agonising pain ever since. All Patricia wanted was for the father of her unborn baby to have joined her at the birth, but it was something that Cassandra knew wouldn't happen, long before Patricia even fell pregnant.

Every time one of her daughters became pregnant, the father would flee. Even if the baby was planned, wanted, tried for desperately. Without fail, every father would be gone within twenty four hours after the pregnancy announcement. It was as though they had a bad feeling about the babies that were to be born, and some deep, omniscient force was convincing them to run for the hills.

And Cassandra knew all too well why the fathers never remained with the mothers. It was _his_ way of assuring that no Trelawney woman ever ruined their lives.

This pregnancy had been particularly hard on Patricia, something which Cassandra hadn't entirely expected. She had witnessed both of her own daughter's give birth to four granddaughters, and two of those granddaughters went on to produce another three. Two of those great-grandchildren, Patricia's sisters, were not going to produce any more daughters. One of them had discovered she was unable to bear children, and the other had died when she was just eight years old, leaving Patricia to carry on the Trelawney name.

Every other pregnancy Cassandra had assisted had been entirely smooth-sailing. Natural aches, pains and sickness, all followed by an ordinary pregnancy, lasting no longer than around twelve hours of labour.

Patricia was the first to break the routine that Cassandra had become so acquainted with.

"One more push, Patricia!" the Healer's voice broke through Cassandra's train of thought. Patricia released a loud, hysterical scream, pushing for all she was worth. Her face flushed a deep, beet-red, a vein on her forehead bulged, and finally the baby burst out into the Healer's arms.

The Healer acted quickly, wrapping the baby, still red-faced and covered in blood, into a fluffy pink towel and handing her to Patricia. The baby was surprisingly quiet, Cassandra noticed. Instead of crying, she was simply whimpering, her eyes screwed up tightly.

"You're beautiful," Patricia whispered, reaching down and hooking her forefinger around the baby's tiny hand. "Sybil." A single tear streamed down her cheek, and she laid her head back on her pillow as she cradled her new baby.

Cassandra engaged in a quick, hushed conversation with the Healer, ushering her out of the bedroom so that the three different generations of Trelawney women could have a few moments alone. She hobbled over to her great-granddaughter's bedside, and looked down into the small, pink face of her new great-great-granddaughter.

"You did so well," she assured Patricia. "So well."

But Patricia was silent. Cassandra furrowed her brow and looked down at her. Her eyes were closed, and there was a small smile on her face. The tear that had made a track down her cheek had dried, leaving a wobbly mark on her skin.

"Patricia?" Cassandra clamped her hand on her shoulder, trying to gently shake her awake. She didn't move. "Help!" called the older woman, and the Healer rushed back in.

"Take the baby!" the Healer commanded. Cassandra quickly obliged, reaching into the arms of her great-granddaughter and scooping up the baby, hurrying over to to the other side of the bedroom. At this point, the baby began to cry loudly, screwing her face up even more and wailing vehemently. Cassandra jiggled the newborn gently, trying to hush her.

The Healer was rushing around Patricia worriedly, performing basic resuscitation attempts, but after several moments, she returned to Cassandra's side, a dreadful look on her face.

"I'm sorry, Madam Trelawney," the Healer whispered. "Patricia is dead."

It was the sign that Cassandra had been waiting for. After three hundred years of not being able to foresee what would happen within her own family, she knew that this was it. Her breath hitched in her throat at the sight of her dead, smiling great-granddaughter, but she had no time to mourn.

She had to focus on the newborn.

So, she turned her back on the Healer, and hurried into another room, holding the baby girl into the candlelight. She had begun to quieten down now, but Cassandra knew it wouldn't be long before she wanted to be fed.

"Come child, open your eyes," Cassandra begged, staring desperately at the baby's closed eyes. Her heart was thumping in her chest. This had to be the one. After five generations, this had to be the one.

Slowly, the baby's eyes cracked open, and Cassandra gasped in shock. She hadn't seen anything like this since...since...

Sybil's eyes were chalk white, foggy and clouded over, with no hint of a pupil. She was obviously completely blind and unable to see anything in front of her, but Cassandra knew that she wasn't... _entirely_ blind.

No, she had sight. It just wasn't the same kind of sight that anyone would expect of her.


	2. Deadly Omens

**Chapter Two**

 **Deadly Omens**

* * *

 _ **August 21**_ _ **st**_ _ **, 1969**_

 _It had been raining relentlessly overnight, and when morning came around and the downpour finally slowed to a standstill, the air was freezing cold. By the time Sybil and her friend Maureen arrived at the park, everything was covered in a pale, icy sheen._

 _Maureen didn_ _'t think it was safe to play outside today. After all, Sybil couldn't see; she wouldn't be able to avoid the particularly slippery areas and protect herself from a fall. But when Maureen voiced these concerns to her blind friend, Sybil just laughed jovially._

" _I'll be okay, Maur'," she giggled. "You can help me to the swing set, and I'll push you on it."_

 _So the pair headed into the park. Maureen clutched Sybil's hand and led her across it, steering well clear of murky, frozen black puddles and the slushy edges of the lake. Once they were by the swing set, Maureen placed Sybil's hands on the ropes before climbing onto the seat, wincing at the cold plastic._

 _Sybil stood still and pushed Maureen for a while, and Maureen soon began to forget about her initial worries of coming into the frozen park, and shrieked in delight as she swung higher and higher. Eventually, Sybil began to grow bored._

" _Let_ me _have a go, Maur'," she begged after a while._

" _Okay," replied Maureen breathlessly. "One more push, and I'll jump off!"_

 _So Sybil gave her friend one final, heavy push, and Maureen let out an excited squeal. When the swing reached it's highest point, Maureen threw herself off of the seat, soaring forwards with her feet and arms outstretched._

 _It was the grand finale that the girls often finished their swinging with. The grass was usually spongy and soft, ensuring that they didn't harm themselves if they didn't land on their feet. But today, during the winter, the grass was a crisp, smooth death trap._

 _Maureen landed on her feet, which she often did, but she didn't remain still. Instead, she slid forwards as soon as her feet touched the ground, stumbling over as she did so. The grassy patch that the swing set resided upon didn't stretch too for too far, and soon Maureen was near the concrete pathway._

 _She tripped over the low curb that separated the grass from the pathway, and fell face-forward onto the concrete. Maureen let out one final cry of shock before her forehead cracked against the gravel with a sickening sound, and then she was silent._

 _Upon hearing her frantic yelp, Sybil blindly headed towards the sound of her friends voice. She knelt down beside Maureen's still frame when she found her, and stretched out her hands, trying to feel for her face._

 _Her hands touched something wet and warm, and Sybil felt her stomach sinking. There was a metallic, coppery smell in the air, and then everything melted into a deep, crimson blur._

* * *

Cassandra awoke suddenly, to the sound of her great-great-granddaughter's deafening wails.

"Shh, Sybil, it's okay, you're okay," the voice of Patricia's sister called, trying desperately to shout over Sybil's sobs. "Grams!" she shouted, addressing Cassandra.

With a sigh, Cassandra eased her elderly body out of her bed. She tended to sleep late, due to spending most of her evening attempting various Divination practices, trying desperately to see into Sybil's future.

Cassandra had been able to prophesies various events in her daughters lives, but not everything. She knew which of her children would be unable to become pregnant, like Pamela, Patricia's sister, who was now Sybil's guardian.

Something that Cassandra had always struggled to foresee was the deaths of her daughters. She could often predict illnesses that would lead up to their deaths, but not the actual date. With anyone else who was not related to her, death dates were as clear as if they were tattooed on their foreheads.

But Cassandra could see nothing when she tried to look into Sybil's future. Every night since the day Sybil had been born, Cassandra had attempted everything in order to discover a hint of her great-great-granddaughters future. The crystal ball remained foggy and opaque. Tea leaves didn't leave behind a recognisable sign. Tarot cards provided no insight that Cassandra could rely on, and watching the stars for astrological movements was essentially pointless - but then again, Cassandra had never been much of an astrologer.

Of course, it wasn't really necessary that Cassandra needed to look into the futures of her daughters, but she had been waiting around for the birth of her Seer successor for three centuries. She needed to be sure.

The only way that Cassandra could help Sybil was by tapping into Sybil's visions, using Legilimancy. Sybil was so young, and tended to experience many more visions than Cassandra ever had in her life. Many of the visions could be quite distressing, so Cassandra took it upon herself to delve into Sybil's head and sort through the images carefully.

As Cassandra wrapped her dressing gown around her thin body and hobbled down the stairs to where Sybil and Pamela were, she sighed softly. It was difficult, looking after someone so young who possessed the Sight. She didn't remember being as vulnerable as Sybil was, but then again, there was a reason for that. Deep down, Cassandra knew that there was something a lot different about the power that Sybil possessed, and even deeper, Cassandra knew why.

Most days, she just wanted to allow herself to end her long, long life. But she couldn't, yet. She had work to do. She had ensured that she would stay alive long enough to make sure that the prophesied Seer was able control her ability and not fall prey to the darkness that the Second Sight could come with. But it was upsetting for both Cassandra and Pamela—on most days, it seemed that Sybil was suffering more from a curse than a blessing.

Which Cassandra knew of course, that she was.

When Cassandra reached the kitchen, Pamela was cuddling her nine-year-old niece gently, humming a soft tune. Sybil was no longer wailing, but sobbing softly into the breast of her aunt.

"Brew the tea, dear," Cassandra murmured to Pamela quietly. Pamela nodded silently and stepped away from Sybil, heading over to the worktop and beginning to heat up a pan of water. Cassandra turned her attention to the young girl.

Her eyes were still closed, and she was facing the floor, sitting on the kitchen chair with her shaking hands in her lap. She was wearing her frizzy, light brown hair in tight plaits, the ends fastened with neat ribbons, and had on a set of pale blue denim dungarees and a light pink shirt underneath.

Cassandra resisted the urge to click her gums at Sybil's appearance. In her day, _all_ witches and wizards wore robes, no matter what age they were, and she had wanted Sybil to do the same from being able to walk, but Pamela refused to allow a young girl to be restricted by uncomfortable clothing when she should be out playing and having fun.

"What did you see, Sybil?" asked Cassandra in a low voice, sitting down heavily in the chair opposite her. She didn't often want to include Pamela in Sybil's ability, due to the fact that she didn't wholly understand it. Whenever Sybil had shown signs of being able to foresee something, Pamela had automatically called for Cassandra's assistance, and that was just the way it had to be, especially since Pamela's husband died.

"Maureen," Sybil replied quietly, her voice wobbling. "Maureen is going to die in the winter."

Cassandra's stomach lurched and reached out and took Sybil's small, smooth hands in her own. She was too young to be experiencing this much pain. It was the third time in her life that she had made a death prediction, and each one had been equally traumatic.

The first prediction had been when Sybil wasn't even old enough to talk. One morning, she had woken up screaming and crying, and the noise continued for the rest of the day. Cassandra quickly noticed that Sybil appeared unable to look at Pamela's husband, Daniel, which was odd, as the toddler usually enjoyed his company immensely.

This was the first time that Cassandra decided to use Legilimency to see into Sybil's head, in order to discover the problem. After delving into the child's mind, Cassandra saw a particularly eerie vision, in which Daniel, who played Quidditch for a local team in Ireland, lost his life in a devastating broomstick accident. The vision had clearly traumatised Sybil so much that Cassandra sought to _Obliviate_ the memory from the toddler, and made the concious decision not to tell Pamela, hoping that this initial foresight had perhaps just been a childish nightmare.

However, less than two weeks later, news arrived that Daniel had fallen from his broom in a freak Quidditch accident, and plummeted to his death. Even though Cassandra had hoped that Sybil hadn't really seen this happening, she couldn't help but privately admit that she had expected Daniel to die after she saw the vision in Sybil's head.

The second prediction was one that didn't really leave a noticeable impression on Sybil, but unnerved her nonetheless. It was when she was just six years old, and featured an elderly woman whom she had only met once; Sacharissa Tugwood.

Sacharissa was an old friend of Cassandra, She was a clever witch who developed beautification potions, and she happily provided Cassandra with her potions to keep her looking more like she was sixty or seventy years old, instead of three hundred. The two remained friends even after Cassandra's stock of Tugwood Beauty Products was well replenished, mainly because Sacharissa was so impressed to see her potions working on such an elderly woman.

Just three weeks after Sybil met the ninety-two year old Sacharissa during a lunch date with Cassandra, she woke up crying in the night. When Cassandra came into her bedroom to see her, Sybil announced that Sacharissa would die peacefully in her sleep the following Sunday.

It had occurred to Cassandra to wipe her memory once again, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Death was going to be something that would always have an impact on Sybil's life, and the sooner she learnt to accept that the deaths of people close to her was an event she was likely to forever foresee, the easier it would become. So Cassandra did her best to explain why Sybil was able to see these things, and how she could deal with it.

But this latest prediction was likely to be the one that affected Sybil the most.

Maureen was a Muggle girl who was the same age as Sybil, and lived three houses away from the Trelawneys. She soon became Sybil's first, and only friend, as most of the witch and wizards who were Sybil's age were well aware of her ability. Not all Seers were born without the ability to actually see, but it was a trait that many had to live with. As soon as they realised that Sybil was a relative of Cassandra, the parents of these children would automatically know of Sybil's talent, and soon made it clear that they didn't want their children associating with her.

It wasn't that they disliked Cassandra or her ability, or that Sybil had the same talent. It was just that people were often afraid. It was something that Cassandra had experienced a lot during her long, long life; many people just weren't altogether comfortable with the idea that someone could see things that hadn't even happened yet.

But Maureen was different. Even though most Muggles had their debates about whether people who proclaimed to see the future could do so or not, they didn't generally link Sybil's lack of eyesight to the Second Sight. Maureen immediately assumed that Sybil was just blind, and that was where her suspicions ended.

If anything, Maureen enjoyed playing with Sybil. Pamela initially worried excessively when Sybil started going down the road to the local park with just Maureen, but Cassandra had the utmost faith in both of the girls. Maureen had a very caring personality, and made a generous effort to look after Sybil when they played in the park.

With another gentle sigh and praying that Sybil was wrong about her friend, Cassandra aimed her wand at her great-great-granddaughter and murmured; _"Legilimens."_

* * *

 _ **September 1**_ _ **st**_ _ **, 1971**_

 _There was a male figure moving through the foggy darkness. Sybil couldn't see him properly yet, she could only make out a few distinct features. It was odd. Whenever she was dreaming, her vision was immaculate._

 _He had broad shoulders and appeared to be fairly tall. There was the hint of shimmering, honey-coloured hair on his head, which appeared to be quite long, hanging in waves. As he got closer, Sybil could make out more of his appearance._

 _He had a wide, leering smile, which didn't look welcoming in the slightest, and the dull shine of sharp, pointed teeth inside his mouth. His eyes were the most terrifying; narrow, red-rimmed lids with pale eyelashes and icy-blue irises._

 _Sybil desperately wanted to run away from this insidious looking character, but she felt as though her feet were rooted to the ground. He inched closer and closer, until she could feel the whisper of cold breath on her face._

" _It's almost time," he spoke in a gravelly voice, sending shivers all the way up and down her spine. "It's almost_ —"

"—time," continued Aunt Pamela. Sybil shot up in her bed, raking her hand furiously through her long, frizzy hair. "It's time to _go_ , Sybil. Come on—the Hogwarts Express leaves at eleven."

Her first day of school had arrived, something that Sybil had previously been excited about. But now, all she could think about was the intimidating figure she had just met in her dream.


	3. Bloody Depictions

**Chapter Three**

 **Bloody Depictions**

* * *

 _ **March 12**_ _ **th**_ _ **, 1976**_

Hogwarts was an extremely lonely place for Sybil. It was impossible to make friends with her strange appearance, her obvious relationship to Cassandra Trelawney, and of course, her ability to predict the deaths of almost everyone she came into contact with.

After a year of trying, Sybil essentially gave up attempting to befriend anyone. It was easier to be alone. For one thing, she didn't have to worry about the impending visions of their untimely deaths. Without friends, her mind remained relatively clear.

As she grew older, Sybil soon learned that had other unusual magical talents, aside from just her ability to foresee the future. One of the worst things for Sybil was being unable to physically see the people she came into contact with, and her desire to be able to see people for what they looked like soon came true.

The first time it happened was during a brief spat with a Gryffindor boy.

James Potter had been preparing to tease her relentlessly after she had foreseen that he would use a levitation charm to lift Severus Snape out of the air and dispense him of his possessions. Seeking an opportunity to form a friendship with someone, Sybil had automatically rushed out into the courtyard before the Potter boy could launch the spell at Severus, and disarmed him effectively. Potter's wand flew out of his hand and rolled away, giving Severus and his friend Lily enough time to scurry away from Potter and his gang.

Unfortunately, Potter was all too aware of what Sybil had just done. She stood by idly as he marched over with his three friends, ready to question her.

"What did you do that for?" he snapped at Sybil.

"You were going to attack him," she replied airily, trying to appear confident, even though she was anything but. She could count on one hand the amount of conversations she'd had with other students at Hogwarts, so it was understandable that she would be nervous. "All I did was prevent you from doing so."

"He didn't do anything," came another voice. She recognised that it belonged to Sirius Black, Potter's second-in-line.

"He was going to," Sybil responded, her voice cracking a little under the pressure.

"You can't prove that," Potter began, but his tone seemed to be wavering a little. Sybil became aware that he was taking in her milky white eyes and vacant expression, and he was probably trying to place how he knew her. "Oh," he finished simply, after a brief pause.

"What is it?" Sirius demanded.

"She's that freak who can see the future," Potter hissed. The word _"freak"_ plunged into Sybil like a razor-sharp dagger, feeling as though it had just punctured a lung. Her heart lurched sadly.

"Oh James, you weren't really going to attack Snape," muttered another voice. This time it belonged to the quieter member of James's gang; Remus Lupin. They all began to converse with each other, another higher-pitched, squeaky voice entering the conversation.

They babbled fruitlessly for several minutes, leaving Sybil cornered against the wall. She hated this most of all—the fact that she was trapped here, forced to listen to the chattering mouths of four people that she couldn't see. When they were all talking at once, she couldn't keep track of them; who was speaking to who; what facial expressions they were making. It made her so angry deep down. She hated the person she had become. Her great-great-grandmother had once tried to convince Sybil that the Second Sight was a gift, to be treated with the utmost respect, but she was wrong.

It was a curse.

"—It doesn't matter anyway, I'm going to jinx this freak," Potter was saying. "Give me your wand, Sirius," he continued, and there was the sound of grappling between the boys, as Potter apparently snatched his friend's wand away in the absence of his own.

In a moment of defiance, she lunged her hands out in front of her protectively, blindly grabbing at whoever was in front of her. Her hand connected awkwardly with James's face, knocking his glasses clean off his nose, and then time seemed to stop.

She could see him! In her mind, she could see him, clearly as ever. It was the first time that she had ever felt like she'd physically seen someone, when she wasn't experiencing a vision. She could see his eyes; angry at what she had done; his dark, scruffy hair; the untidy way he wore his school tie halfway down his neck and the top button of his shirt undone.

 _She could see him!_

Resisting the urge to dive forward and hug the life out of James Potter, Sybil instead chose to push her way through the gang of four. When her hand made contact with Sirius, she envisioned his curly black hair, prepubescent stubble on his chin, and dark eyes. She brushed past Peter Pettigrew and was momentarily appalled at the greasy hair on his head and the pimples on his round chin. Her arm grazed against Remus's, and she clearly saw him in her mind, but there was something else, something bigger, darker, hairier...

But in that moment, she didn't care about anyone else. She'd found a loophole to her blindness, and it was the happiest that she'd ever felt in her entire life.

However, her happiness didn't last for very long. After a few hours of brief euphoria, Sybil soon remembered that she was still alone. She still had no friends at Hogwarts; no one to talk to, no one to laugh with, no one to share homework troubles with. As she spent another lunchtime sitting at the Hogs Head pub in Hogsmeade, she felt tears springing into her pale, empty eyes.

 _Why does it have to be this way?_ She thought desperately. Staring into the darkness that was constantly ahead of her, she wished that something would come along and change her life.

"May I sit with you?" a smooth, honey-coated voice broke her train of thought. She blinked around wildly, sensing a presence close to her.

"Of course," she replied, feeling a little stunned.

"Ah, wonderful. Good thing I brought a second drink for you. It would've been a little awkward if you had turned me away," he continued, and Sybil heard the clunk of a glass hitting the wooden table. Her fingers curled around the cup, and the smell of Butterbeer assaulted her nostrils pleasantly.

Even though Aunt Pamela had warned Sybil never to talk to strangers from an early age, she couldn't help but feel colour rising to her cheeks. No one had ever paid her this much attention before, let alone buy her a drink. She allowed herself to offer the stranger a small smile.

If he turned out to be a mass murderer, at least he was a polite one.

"Do you go to Hogwarts here?" he asked conversationally, sipping his drink. Sybil listened closely to his words, which he spoke with an accent she didn't quite understand, and she tried to picture what he could look like. It was too soon to grab his hands in order to see for herself. Even though Sybil struggled to make friends, she knew what she _shouldn't_ do, and that was to act her unusual self whenever she met someone new.

"Yes," she replied. "I'm in my sixth year."

"Sixth year, _ma chérie_ ," he replied. She raised her eyebrows, suddenly realising where she recognised the accent from. He was French. "So you are sixteen?"

Sybil released a soft sigh. "It was my birthday two days ago."

"Oh," the man sounded strangely happy. "Did you celebrate with your friends?"

Sybil let out a short, airy laugh. "I wish."

There was a dull silence after that, in which Sybil was left feeling a little upset. She had almost managed put aside any thought about her pathetic sixteenth birthday, in which she only received a single card from Aunt Pamela and Grams. No one else knew or cared that it was her birthday, and she didn't need to be reminded of that fact.

Whilst she thought about this brief annoyance, she began to feel a little paranoid about why this polite French stranger was spending his personal time talking to her. Not just that, but why was he acting as though her obvious impairment was non-existent? The first thing people usually questioned, if they didn't already have an idea, was why her eyes were the way they were, or if she was blind.

"Is there something you would like from me?" she asked the stranger suddenly, struggling not to keep any trace of defensiveness out of her voice.

"Of course not," he replied automatically, as if he had expected her to react in that manner.

"Why don't you care about my eyes," Sybil hissed. She knew she was acting unusual, and if this person was trying to make friends with her, then she'd probably already blown it. But her paranoia was getting the best of her. "Why are you acting like I'm normal?"

"You are normal, aren't you?" the man responded. His voice was as level and smooth as it had been when he first arrived. "I didn't ask you about your eyes, because it isn't polite to point out people's flaws. Not that I think they are a flaw. I noticed them when you entered the bar, and I thought they were exquisitely beautiful."

Any trace of irritation towards this man suddenly drained out of Sybil as pure, undiluted embarrassment replaced it. She felt her cheeks glowing, and reached up to touch her face gently. Her skin was burning.

"I know why you're blind, and I don't think it's odd or weird at all. I think you're very special. I used to know a Seer, a long time ago, and I thought she was wonderful. May I ask your name?"

"Sybil Trelawney," she responded, her voice cracking. She was still processing his untimely compliment.

"Pleasure to meet you, Sybil," he replied. "My name is Mickey Ross," at his introduction, he reached forwards and took her hands in his.

At the contact of their skin, Sybil felt the air leave her throat and the world around her screech to a standstill, as Mickey Ross began to loom into her view.

She could see him sitting across the table from her. He was ethereally pale; his pearly skin seeming to glow in the dull candlelight. He appeared to be fairly tall and broad shouldered, dressed in a crisp white dress shirt that was open at the neck, exposing dark blond hair on his chest. She took note of his golden, halo-like hair, looked directly into his frosty cerulean gaze, and an eerie sense of deja vu overcame her.

She knew this man.

Suddenly, she wrenched her hands out of his grip, clutching them to her chest. Her throat constricted, causing her to release a choked breath. Even though she had let go of his hands, his appearance was still imprinted upon her mind like a photograph.

In her thoughts, he began to blend together with the mental picture of a vision she had experienced years and years ago; something that Sybil thought she had forgotten entirely.

Images flowed back into her brain, combining with the fresh impression of Mickey Ross. An insidious figure lurking in the gloom; coming towards her and bringing with him a gut-wrenching sense of impending doom.

How could this wonderful, polite young man be the same terrifying figure that had plagued her dream that night?

Sybil was so momentarily distracted by her thoughts, that she didn't notice the scrape of Mickey's chair legs as he stood up. "Well, I think it's time for me to leave," he told her, sounding a little stiffer than he had done previously. He leaned forwards, and Sybil noticed that she could smell something unusual on his breath, before he pressed a chaste kiss on her cheek.

The moment his lips tasted her skin, Sybil felt herself plummeting into the depths of another vision, as if she had just plunged her face in a bucket of icy water.

oOo

The vision came in quick, sharp bursts. A sequence of blurry images, as if something was blocking her from seeing the full picture.

 _Sybil's hands were in front of her, clutching a pair of wrinkled, elderly ones. She could feel the low, vibrating hum of power throbbing between their fingers like the drum of a steady heartbeat._

There was a flash of bright white light, momentarily blinding Sybil.

 _There is a man standing with them. Sybil can't see him, but she can hear him. He's chanting something in a language she can't understand, and his voice is booming around the room they are in._

Another blinding flash.

 _A sudden scream rips through the room, piercing Sybil like a white-hot blade. Goosebumps rise on her skin, and the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. The hands in hers are beginning to slacken. Sybil tries to keep hold of them, but they're damp with sweat, slipping out of her grasp..._

The white light pulsates through the vision once more.

 _Then there is a laugh. A deep guffaw, but there is a strange sense of foreboding in the depths of the voice. Sybil can no longer entwined hands in front of her, but instead a looming figure, with his mouth open, exposing sharp, dangerous teeth._

* * *

With a sudden jolt, Sybil returned from her vision.

She couldn't quite put the pieces of it together, just yet. She knew if her Grams was here, she would use Legilimency to dive into Sybil's mind and make sense of what it was that she saw, but unfortunately she was alone.

She knew, however, that there was some kind of unusual connection between her and the stranger, Mickey Ross. Sybil was momentarily thankful that the Easter holidays were coming up, so she would be able to go home and discuss her problems with her Grams.

As she stood up to leave the Hogs Head, Sybil was suddenly reminded of the unusual scent that she had noticed on Mickey's breath. Back then, she hadn't been able to place it, but now...

She knew what it had been.

 _Blood._


	4. The Seer's Mistake

**AN:** I have created an aesthetic photoset for this chapter which I'd love you to check out! If you'd like to see it, search screaming-fae on tumblr.

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

 **The Seer** **'s Mistake**

 _ **March 18**_ _ **th**_ _ **, 1976**_

Cassandra held the letter that Sybil had sent her in her trembling hand, reading word-for-word the experience that Sybil had recently had with this polite stranger in the Hogs Head, and the terrifying vision that had followed.

Time was slowly ticking on, and Cassandra knew that it would soon be time to explain to Sybil what was happening to her, and why these things were the way they were.

The old woman sighed, and dropped the letter to the table, resting her face in her hands. It was a difficult situation. There were mistakes in her lengthy past that Cassandra wanted so desperately to forget, but here she would have to face them, if she wanted to protect her family.

It was time to face those mistakes head on.

* * *

 _ **October 31**_ _ **st**_ _ **, 1668**_

It was common for the Trelawney family to host a magnificent ball on Hallow'een, and it was a grand party that most people around England wanted to attend.

This year, however, was going to be different, for the eldest daughter of the Trelawney family had just recently turned eighteen. Her father was hoping that she would find a suitable suitor for marriage tonight, and as such she was to be prepared to appear as beautiful as she could be, with the intention of securing the heart of a fine young Pureblood wizard.

However, Cassandra had her hearts set on a different target. She knew that an acquaintance of her brother would be joining them for the ball tonight; a young man who went by the name of Michaél de Roissi. He was only a couple of years older than her, but Cassandra knew him to be extremely talented in the Dark Arts, though he kept his talents very much under wraps.

She had foreseen that Michaél would be attending the ball, and her visions told her that he would be the one to help her. Cassandra had wished, for years now, that she could refine her talent.

She was the strongest Seer that her family had so far produced, but it wasn't good enough for Cassandra. Her visions provided an insight, yes—but they were just snippets and segments of what would happen. Cassandra wanted _full_ clarity. She wanted perfect foresight, clairvoyance, and everything else that being a powerful witch of the mind could provide.

Michaél was the one who would help her to achieve greatness with her sight. She just had to convince him.

As Cassandra headed down the grand stairway into the ballroom, she was sure it would be easy. She had been dressed elegantly in a floor-length, midnight blue gown which contrasted flawlessly with her ivory skin, and her curly dark hair had been tamed into fluid, soft waves which were pinned up around her head in an extravagant fashion. Her face had been adorned with smoky powder around her eyes, and deep red paint creamed on her lips.

Eyes turned to stare as Cassandra reached the bottom step, and curtseyed politely at the Trelawney family's guests. She knew she looked fantastic, and the way that she was reflected in the cloudy eyes of the men around her only heightened that knowledge.

However, she was only interested in one man. Cassandra expertly weaved her way through the throng of guests, neatly snatching up a glass of champagne from a waiter carrying a circular tray, until she reached her target. A tall, bulky figured man, with long, golden hair that curled at his neck, and was wearing smart velvet dress robes with flattering frills at the neck. His piercing blue eyes were focused on Cassandra as she stalked confidently towards him, his wide mouth stretched into a smile.

She shook his hand firmly, and he seemed quite taken aback at a women greeting him so forwardly. Carefully, he reached closer and pressed his lips to her cheek, and then to her knuckles.

Taking a sip of her champagne, Cassandra smiled. This was going to be a lot easier than she had expected.

* * *

 _ **November 23**_ _ **rd**_ _ **, 1668**_

It had only taken a could of weeks for Cassandra to lure Michaél firmly into her web. Just a week or so into November, and the French gentleman was utterly infatuated with her.

So, Cassandra had found it fairly easy to slip into conversation that the only thing she wanted in the world was perfection of her Sight. And Michaél was only far too happy to oblige, desperate to please the woman he had quickly grown to adore.

He stole a stone that had belonged to a famous alchemist, known as Nicholas Flamel, which he called the Philosopher's Stone. Michaél used his magic to cut a tiny fraction of the stone away, and replaced the Philosopher's Stone back where he had found it, sure that Nicholas Flamel would never know.

Michaél developed the shard of the stone into a dark, grape-coloured potion, full of other ingredients which Michaél wouldn't speak of. He told Cassandra that they were much too dark and dangerous to taint her innocent mind with, and it was better for her if she remained clueless.

Without a second thought, Cassandra took the goblet of potion in her hands and poured it down her throat, already sure she could feel strength and vitality flooding through her veins.

* * *

 _ **January 2**_ _ **nd**_ _ **, 1669**_

Cassandra had hoped that after a few weeks of doing her best to ignore Michaél de Roissi, that he would get the message, and leave her alone. But she was terribly wrong.

In the first week of her ignorance, he pined for her. He begged and threw stones at her window, causing Cassandra's father to grow angry and threaten to curse him. He sent gifts to her house; jewellery made from the deepest, darkest sapphires, and enchanted roses of the same shade. He wrote her endless letters, desperate to know why she wouldn't respond, and what he had done to upset her.

Cassandra had no interest in the wizard anymore. He had served his purpose as far as she was concerned, and now she was stronger than ever before. The only time she would need a man in her life was when the time came for her to procreate, but she was just eighteen. Her mother and aunts had bore children by the time they were eighteen, sometimes earlier, but Cassandra had no desire to put her womb to use just yet. She had plans to travel the world, to see things both in the world, and wherever her stronger, more adapted mind could take her.

After the first week, Michaél began to grow angry with Cassandra. The possibility that she had used him for his magical prowess was a forefront in his mind, and he hated that he had allowed her to do this to him. He initially threatened to retract the power he'd given Cassandra, but she simply scoffed.

She had already foreseen so much of the future, and she knew that she had her gifts for many years ahead of her. Michaél couldn't undo the magic he'd created; it was too late for that.

By the new year, Michaél was out to kill. A pure, undiluted rage had filled his entire body; he was tormented by the betrayal and heartbreak that Cassandra had caused him. It was this hatred for the woman he loved that caused him to curse a particularly beautiful necklace made from platinum and black diamonds, and send it to Cassandra.

Cassandra was more than happy to accept the gifts that Michaél had been sending her. His French family were very wealthy and had a large collection of family jewels, and pretty things always made her happy, no matter where they came for.

However, she couldn't have foreseen what Michaél had done to the necklace he sent. Whatever magic he used on it prevented her from receiving any ill omens or warnings. So, when the brown paper parcel soared through her open window on January the second, Cassandra ripped it open with eager hands.

As soon as her fingers touched the cold platinum, she knew that she had made a dreadful mistake.

The necklace jumped out of her hands and soared into the air, hovering above her. A strange breeze blew threw the window, causing the air around Cassandra and the necklace to turn jet black and smoky. All she could see were the sparkling, ebony jewels in front of her.

A harrowing voice penetrated her mind, as if he were screaming into both of her ears at once. Even when Cassandra clamped her hands down on her ears, she could still hear the awful sound.

" _I curse you, Cassandra Trelawney, as a response to the betrayal you cursed me with. You stole my heart, so it is my duty to steal your future._

 _You will never live comfortably for the rest of your long life. The alchemist's magic prevents you from dying for a long time, and your years ahead of you will be filled with torment and distress._

 _One child of the Trelawney bloodline will be gifted with a Sight so much stronger and more powerful than what you could ever hope to possess. She will suffer immensely from the trials and pains that this Sight will cause her._

 _No man will ever remain with your accursed family. Husbands will flee when wombs are filled. No sons will be born of Trelawney blood._

 _You will wait for this child to be born. You will be the one to watch this daughter die for your sins."_

After the accented voice finished, the necklace burst into black flames, crumbling into ash around Cassandra, whilst she stared blankly into space.

* * *

 _ **March 22**_ _ **nd**_ _ **, 1976**_

Cassandra had her head in her hands after she had finished repeating this story to Sybil, while they sat together in a small tearoom in Hogsmeade.

She had been a greedy, awful child, and it had taken gaining this horrific curse in order to learn from her mistakes. For what she had done to Michaél, Sybil had been forced to endure the suffering that this Sight caused her, and Merlin only knew what else she would be subject to.

The one thing that Sybil had never counted on was that Michaél de Roissi—or Mickey Ross, as it seemed he was calling himself these days—would still be alive. As the two different generations sipped their tea quietly, Cassandra wondered idly just how he had managed to maintain a life as long as hers - and if it was something she should be worried about.


End file.
